Empyreus
by Seinakyou
Summary: Ichimaru Gin won a war he never took a side on, and suddenly Orihime is queen of a place she wanted to hate but never could. ::Eventual Ichimaru/Orihime::
1. Helter Skelter

**ANI:** Because, obviously, I don't have enough to think about, with stupid school and everything, I'm going to start something new. Heavily inspired by 'At Alleghany Falls' by Virgins-and-Surgeons, so it's sort of kind of based off of that, but not totally. Well. I don't own Bleach, I'm a student. Honestly. Like I have that kind of money.

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><p><strong>Title:<strong> Helter Skelter  
><strong>Author:<strong> seinakyou  
><strong>Genre(s): <strong>Drama, General  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Orihime, Ishida, Ichimaru  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 944  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Summary:<strong> It's amazing how quickly things can turn to chaos.

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><p>…<p>

…

…

…

_When I get to the bottom  
>I go back to the top of the slide<br>Where I stop and turn  
>and I go for a ride<em>

...

...

...

...

Orihime has never been a complicated person.

When she wanted to do something, she would. If she wanted to be something, she'd try. When it came to her friends, there was nothing more to be said than everything.

Everything good, everything bad, but then everything changed.

Suddenly, she wasn't with her friends, had no one to support, no one to rely on, no one, nothing. Nothing at all.

It hurt, at first, the coldness of her protector and the loneliness and the long nights where she never slept, but just stared at the lopsided moon outside her window and began to hope, to dream, to wish upon a star that maybe they'd come for her.

Why didn't they get it? They said they got there the next day, that they had worked as hard as possible to leave as soon as possible.

But everything was wrong.

Months were hours, years were days, and Inoue Orihime had spent a year there and knew that something had changed.

Something strong had been borne out of the long, hard nights; the stifling silence; the tears; the cuts; the comfort she got from one person alone who she knew didn't mean. Along the way, Orihime became everything she had always sworn to protect and nothing like she'd been before.

She grew. She blossomed.

But still, she hoped. Hoped for a saviour that cared about her, hoped for something a little bit more than white walls.

It came, eventually.

Eventually came too late, so it seems.

Everything was wrong, didn't they see? When years were days, of course, absolutely, Aizen's army grew, so did his power, so did the power of everyone but them.

She cried when she first saw Ichigo again, not because she was happy, not completely, partly because she could feel the strong part of her slip away and be replaced by a simpering little girl who only seeks approval.

She's happy, but not herself. But god knows she loves these people, all of them, every single one and the thought of them being hurt actually makes her physically ill. She loves them, she waited for them, and now they're here, and she's happy, but you know what?

It hurts, too. Hurts to see Grimmjow, who was almost nice to her, be part of a bloody desert canvas painted by her friends. He was her friend, or something close to it. Sort of.

Maybe she's a bit soft.

But it _does_ hurt, so she just doesn't understand it when Ulquiorra dies, and something in her legitimately rebels at the thought that he'd never be around to reaffirm her beliefs, but also to give her strength enough to follow them.

She cried. A lot.

And then Ichigo left, and she had to start all over. All over again.

And she was left sitting on top of a tower, thinking 'how do I get off of here?'

Enter Ishida.

Somehow, she gets transported down from the top of the tall tower, where she clutches a piece of Ulquiorra's blade as she found it, ignoring the deep gashes it left in her palms, because this was at least a very substantial memory of someone she know she could have liked.

She doesn't have many of those, so this one is all the more precious.

It's hard to hold onto as she runs, trying very hard to keep looking for the black of Ishida's hair in the cold white hallways that are almost, sort of familiar by now, even if she has no clue where exactly she is.

Hallway after hallway, turn after turn, and yet no end in sight, no natural light coming in, just harsh white light that makes her look even paler than she is, because it's endless night here.

She thinks it's pretty, and is struck by a sudden pang on gratitude for having a window in her room. At least she knew there was something else, something other than walls and walls and rooms and rooms and sudden flashes of colour that made her remember real life.

She thinks they just passed Grimmjow's rooms, actually. She wonder is she looks in there, she'll find blue hair on his pillow, or if he sheds at all. She never finds out, because they're getting close to the… throne room place, she's ure, this time she can tell where the hallway is.

They take the corner sharply, when something flashes in her peripheral like a thin thread of wire. She pauses momentarily, and it seems to be enough, for in that spilt second when Ishida hesitates too, and suddenly, there are spider webs cracking through his glasses and just as quickly, something flashes through his eye from behind her and retracts just as quickly.

She supposes this is mercy, both in the general sense that she was spared while he was not, and specifically, because she knows very well who this blade belongs to and realizes that this is indeed an honour, or something like it. She tries not to think, tries not to feel as she watches Uryu Ishida crumple before her, like ragdoll, or Kon after Ichigo punched him too hard and before Ishida fixes him. There's a small stream of blood coming from the back of his head, matting his dark hair, and she's glad she can't see his eyes because then he would be very, very dead.

Stiffly, slowly, she turns, trying to keep from trembling.

Behind her stands a tall man wearing blood soaked white robes and leaning on his sword. At her attention, he slowly raises a hand.

"Yo." Ichimaru Gin greets, hand cocked in a mockery of a wave. "I'm home."

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><p><strong>ANII: That's pretty much it. Kind of introductory, and not totally pleased, but this had to be written, so it was. Oh well. <strong>


	2. Breaking Point

**ANI: Yes, its finally an update. I've gotten really behind, and have found little motivation to do any writing... hey guys, you know what helps? Reviews! ... yeah, I'm only kind of kidding. Regardless, thank you to those who have put this this story on Story Alert, because at least I know people care to see this thing updated! Stylistically, this one is all over the place, because I wrote it in three sections. Kudos if you can figure out where the swaps happened. **

**Anyways, enjoy!  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Title:<strong> Breaking Point  
><strong>Author: <strong>seinakyou  
><strong>Theme:<strong> #19 Itch  
><strong>Genre(s): <strong>Angst, Drama  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Ichimaru, Orihime  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1,999 (oh yeah!)  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Ichimaru always smile, even as he rips your heart to shreds.

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><p>...<p>

...

...

...

_This town of night_

_Is lit by a light_

_The sound of a creaking gear and a wheel_

_It echoed as I walked_

...

...

...

...

Orihime sits on her cold, white throne, and can only think of Ichimaru.

She hates him, she hates him, she wants to hate him and she doesn't, because it's hard to hate him, not because he's nice but because she always tries to see the nice in people, but look where that's gotten her now.

She sits on her throne and laughs bitterly, because all the kindness she invented was _not_ real, not at all.

…

_She froze._

"_Wha—why are you back here?" she cried out, shocked, and a little bit scared. "They can't have let you go!"_

_He laughs, throwing his head back, before fixing her with what she knows is a piercing gaze, even though his eyes are closed._

"_You're smart, hime-chan. You know why I'm back."_

_The blood rushed in her ears, and she can feel herself fall to the floor, under the watch of impassive eyes._

_No. No. No. Please, no._

_He sighs, faking exasperation. "Fine, fine, I'll tell ya." He glides over to her, gracefully, before crouching down in front of her and tilting her chin up so she's forced to look at him._

"_I won, hime-chan. They didn't let me come back, I just did." _

_He's still grinning, but now she's sure if she could see his eyes they'd be crazed._

"_It's over."_

…

Orihime sits on her throne and stares sometimes, stares at the doors she know exist down at the end of the hallways, hoping someone will walk through them.

Isn't that how it went, when Ichigo came to save her, he just burst and helped her and that's what she needs, a hero.

She's a damsel, again, but this time there's no iron will. She just needs to be saved.

…

_It took all her courage to swallow and shoot back a response. _

"_Don't you mean _we_ won? Where's your precious Aizen-sama, huh?"_

_He sees through her bravado, and parries without missing a beat. "Nah, I meant we."He leans back on his haunches, and gives a gusty sigh. "He… didn't make it." His tone was solemn, but the maniacal grin is still on his face, and immediately she realizes the implications._

"_Impossible." She whispers, eyes widening in horror. "You… you wouldn't…"_

_He laughs, and the sound rumbles from deep within his chest. It is by far the most frightening this she has ever heard. _

"_Now, now." He gently scolds, "don't tell me what I would or wouldn't do. That isn't the proper attitude to have towards me, hime-chan."_

_Her eyes narrow, indignation welling up inside of her. "You've killed my friends!" she exclaims shrilly, "what do you expect?"_

_He blinks, nonplussed, before some of the malice seeps out of his expression. "I didn't kill 'em. I left 'em alone." He registers her blatant distrust, and then puts a hand over his heart, sincerity practically oozing out of his pores. "Honest!" _

_She can feel the teardrops hit her thighs before she even knows she's crying. "Liar." She grinds out, "Liar, liar, liar!" She feels a sudden urge to hit him._

_He stands back up, stretching and popping his shoulders. He then turns, and starts to walk away. "Fine." He sighs, putting his hands in barely visible pockets. "Believe what you will. But be nice about it, will you?" He gives her one final glance, and the wicked glee in it leaves her chilled. "We're engaged, after all."_

…

It's not like she has a choice, though.

It's not painfully trite, unlike most descriptions of being unable to look away. She is not riveted; she is not particularly looking forward to anyone coming through that door, and most of all she is not delighted by her horror.

It's that she literally can't move, because in every direction in her peripheral, all she can see is the cold glint of his sword, from every direction, in every way whispering _I dare you to._

…

_Orihime felt very, very cold. A chill was creeping up her spine, and no matter how many blankets she wore, she was still cold._

_So very cold, because she couldn't stop thinking about that maniacal grin and the words that, no matter how many times she replayed the memory wouldn't change: _We're engaged… we're engaged…

_It was no use trying to change his mind, no use crying over it, no use fighting it; she couldn't kill him even if she really truly wanted to. She couldn't even scratch him, but that didn't matter, because if everything went right for her, for once, if she got what she wanted, what she needed, for once, maybe Ichigo or Shiro-chan or someone would come and save her._

_Again._

_She's very cold, and very alone, and for the first time ever she realizes that there's nothing she can do about it._

…

Orihime never expected the door to open.

Sure, she that was what she was waiting for, but in truth no one actually used that door, unless there was a great need for formality or else an invader was rushing in, to kill him or to save her, it didn't really matter because one was essentially the other.

But no one ever used that door, so when Ichimaru came strolling through it four hours after she had been left there –

…

"_Now, now," he whispered into her hair, mocking her, "Shh, it's alright, I'll be back soon."_

_Her fingers wrapped around the arms of the throne, knuckles turning white with the force of her grip._

"_I _ hate _you," she seethed, eyes bright with anger and fear and something else he couldn't identify."_

_He laughed. "I know, you're scared," he fake-soothed, "but I won't be long, I just have some business to finish up." He paused, before drawing his sword. "I won't need this anyways, so why don't I leave it here, to protect you?"_

_He whispered his sword's release, and suddenly, streaks of metal shot past her like light, and within a second she was completely surrounded._

"_Now," he said fake sincerely, "you're completely safe."_

_She could've screamed if she could've moved._

…

– she was sure she had fallen asleep and had begun to dream.

As quickly as it had happened, she noticed that the blades of the sword no longer surrounded her, and yet she still could not move even an inch, now for a painfully trite reason: his full gaze was fixed on her and she could scarcely blink, let alone look away. It didn't take long for the arrancar, or whatever was left of them, to appear in the hallway, clearly awaiting their new orders. Ichimaru barely spared them a glance, before flicking his hand in dismissal. Then, in a blur of white armour and vividly coloured hair, it was just the two of them.

She licked her dry lips and swallowed, and was about to say something when Ichimaru covered the distance of the stairs in two long steps (was that Flash Step, or something?) and suddenly kneeled before her.

"My Lady," he murmured, oozing sincerity, "your humble servant returns to you."

The rage hit her like a slap in the face, and it took all the power of the restraints holding her down to keep from jumping up and maiming him with her bare hands.

"Now, now," he placated, standing up, "calm down, hime-chan." He reached his hand into his coat, and pulled out a indistinguishable piece of black fabric. "I have spectacular news for ya!"

It took her a few seconds to recognize the fabric for what it was, and when she did her eyes grew in horror and a sound something akin to a choke came out of her throat. She stared down at the fragment of a shihakusho in his hand. It was fairly standard, but in was also drenched in blood, dying Ichimaru's pale hand and dripping onto the pristine floors of the throne room. Bile rose up in her throat, and she noticed with dim awareness that her fingers had relaxed their death grip on the arms of the throne, but this wasn't her main concern anymore, staying mad at him, because someone…

Then Ichimaru coughed, and her head exploded into agony around her and her world swam, the black and the red and the white all bleeding together in a mess of colours and thoughts. She could barely think over the rushing in her head, and she swooned a little, before the hand that wasn't holding the garment steadied her.

"Hey," he chided gently, amusement in his voice, "I didn't think ya'd nearly pass out!" There was a pause, and she could almost feel, tangibly, the shift in his demeanour. "Weird!" he finished cheerfully.

Slowly but surely, the pressure in her head and the nausea faded, at least to the point of being able to manage it. She wasn't sure when she had closed her eyes, and she also wasn't sure when she had cut half-moons into her palms with her fignernails.

She opened her eyes and flinched violently, for there was Ichimaru, within inches of her face, the bloodied hand on her forehead.

"Inoue-chan," he whispered earnestly, and the use of her actual name shocked her into awareness, "Are ya alright?" She timidly looked up into his eyes, and instead of mockery and cold amusement, she saw what he took as legitimate concern. Close as she was, she could see all the colours of his eyes, and she suddenly realized just how pretty they were, when they were painted in shades of worry and concern and compassion.

The moment passed quickly, and she could feel, rather than see, the barriers be drawn across him again, and this time his eyes closed into his typical half-lidded glance.

She frowned at the sudden rebuttal, and the circumstances came rushing back to her as the blood, drying on her forehead, trickled down into her eyes. She inhaled sharply and pitched herself forward, letting out a little wail. Names and faces flashed through her head, getting mismatched and suddenly she realized he hadn't yet disclosed who it was. Looking down at her knees, she felt a small drop of blood from her forehead stain her once again pristine uniform, and she realized with cool detachment that her forehead was itchy.

"Who…" her voice cracked, but she pressed forwards, "whose is it?"

"Oh, well," he began vaguely, "you know…"

She bit her lip sharply in sheer frustration, and was rewarded with the taste of blood. "Please, Ichimaru-san," she begged reluctantly, eyes shadowed by her bangs, "please, I have to know!"

He sighed dramatically. "You see, hime-chan," he began amicably, "only one person is stupid enough to barge into my home and demand something of mine." He shot her a pointed glance, and horror and understanding began to dawn on her at the exact same moment.

"No, no, no," she whispered, eyes going blank, "please no…" but he continued on, as if she hadn't said anything.

"… and he wouldn't go away, that stupid boy, so I had to stop him from taking ya."

She felt her hands tremble, and somewhere she heard someone whispering under their breath, and it took a few seconds to realize it was her. Shaking violently, she asked "…Ichigo..?" but it wasn't really a question anymore.

He knelt in front of her so that he could look up into her eyes, resting his forearms on her knees, and he looked up at her innocently.

She felt a violent agitation overcome her, and all she wanted to do get out of the room.

"He's dead, hime-chan." He affirmed, smiling. "Won't ya cry for me?"

She screwed her eyes shut, but a few tears still leaked out as she tried to keep her breathing under control. Panic overcame her, and she suddenly realized that Ichigo had been her only hope, her only saviour, her only…

She made no effort to restrain herself this time, and she faintly heard Ichimaru's hysterical laughter through her sobs, and both echoed together in the empty room.

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><p><strong>ANII: Oh dear.<strong>

**~Seina  
><strong>


	3. Cat and the Mouse Who Loved or Hated Him

**ANI: Wow, this update is late. Like, really late. REALLY REALLY LATE. I AM SO SORRY. But anyways, I think the abnormal length to it shall redeem this chapter. So I was writing this, and I had a plan, and then nobody did what they were told. Bad characters! THANK YOU REVIEWERS YOU WARM MY HEART. I LOVE YOU ALL. INCLUDING YOU STORY ALERT PEOPLE WHO SHOULD REVIEW TOO. ;D**

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><p><strong>Title:<strong>Cat and the Mouse Who Loved/Hated Him**  
><strong>**Author:** seinakyou**  
><strong>**Theme:**#45 Rings**  
><strong>**Genre(s):** Angst, Drama**  
><strong>**Characters:**Ichimaru, Orihime**  
><strong>**Word Count: ** 5,176**  
><strong>**Rating:**T**  
><strong>**Summary:** When given a gift, accept it graciously. Unless it happens to be this one.

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><p>…<p>

…

…

…

_If I fall_

_Catch me if you can_

…  
>…<p>

…

…

Little girls dream of their wedding day. In abstract, in complete detail, in a vague fantasy or centered around one person; they always dream. The flowers and the cake are perfect, all your favourite people are there and the love of your life stand at the altar as you unveil yourself, and then you lean and see orange hair and hazel eyes flashing before that beautiful kiss where –

Orihime always knew exactly what her wedding would be, down to the guest list and the venue and the caterer she'd hire.

It would be a small, traditional affair, with her in a beautiful kimono and the groom in a suit, because they're always more handsome that way. She had hoped her brother would give her away, but Tatsuki would surely do it in his absence, but her brother would be seated in the front row all the same. The flowers would be orange, because that's always been her favourite colour for so many different reasons. The door would be opened and then, she'd see him, seated there, a little shy but perfect all the same. She try not to run like a giddy child, but probably fail, and trip and Tatsuki would catch her because that's just what she does.

They'd sit together at the front, maybe not facing each other but sneaking looks out of the corners of their eyes. He'd say something sweet and romantic for his vow, and she'd blush furiously but love it. She'd be sappy and romantic in hers and he'd soak it up, probably turning red but trying to look macho all the same. Then the priest would bless the cup and they'd both drink out of it, and he'd go first and she'd be able to taste him in the wine and on the edge of the cup. Their hands would be looped together with red string and their hands were clasped together, and they'd be facing each other and looking right into each other's eyes and there'd be electricity between them, like always but so much stronger now. Then, the priest would tell them to kiss, and they'd kiss and Orihime would melt, because it was everything she dreamed and it was perfect, but when she opened her eyes it wasn't Ichigo there, or even the faceless boy it had been before she'd met him.

Not even close.

…

_She sat curled up on the bed, knees tucked into her chest and eyes staring straight ahead. She think that maybe Ichigo's blood is still on her face, but she doesn't care and even when she reaches up and finds it there, she can't bring herself to wash it off._

_It's all she really has left of the boy, isn't it? And it's not his fault he's left her alone, not his fault at all, but he's such an idiot for trying to save her when she has Ichimaru keeping her hostage and she doesn't know whyhe's doing it but she hates __**hates HATES**__ Ichimaru but he's probably just damaged and that's why he's so cruel and he's really nice inside maybe and she can fix him and find the part of him that's broken, that part that killed Ichigo, poor Ichigo, that idiot who can't stay away and leaves her all alone all the time like she doesn't matter, but he always saves her when she's in trouble and she does love him all the same, so she knows it's not his fault he's left her alone, not his fault at all, but he's such an idiot for trying to save her when she has Ichimaru keeping her hostage and she doesn't know why he's doing it but she hates __**hates HATES**__ Ichimaru…_

_She can't think straight, she can't talk straight, she can't even notice that her voice is raw from screaming and she never heard a sound._

_Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posies, ha sha, ha sha, we all fall down._

…

She had always planned to get married. Honestly, she had. It was a life goal, the realistic one put in there to appease her brother who was worried about the reality of her becoming a zookeeper robot princess. It was on her list, and whenever the teachers got too worried about her because of her imagination, like the day she'd spent pretending to be a cat, she'd come back the next day with an old wedding magazine in hand and dresses circled and collages of celebrities would be made in art titled "My Future Husband." It soothed them enough, but it infuriated her that all her fun had to be quashed for a day just because she didn't find blocks or colouring as fun as pretending.

She got over that and at one point even started to look forward to her wedding, and as she got older she left behind the kindergartener who pretended to be a cat and become the little girl who just wanted to get married. The cat self got buried deeper and deeper, until Orihime had almost forgot what it felt like. She had forgotten until -

So she'd sit with her friends and chatter mindlessly about the man and the dress and the beautiful flowers, and while she did that, the cat burned inside of her, snarling at the inanity of her conversations and pining for the days where it was let free and she'd crawl around and pounce on things and bite and chase birds. But Orihime kept it tightly leashed with a smile because though she loved it, she knew what she could and couldn't do and be, and the cat was not allowed.

…

_Orihime thinks she fell asleep in the big white throne at the top of the stairs, because she woke up in her bed, tucked in neatly, but she hadn't gotten there herself. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes, and wondered if Ichigo had beat Ulquiorra yet and if Chad was okay and had Byakuya reached Rukia yet, because he had surely gotten here by now._

_Then her breath hitched, and the last few days came rushing back to her. She didn't know it possible to cry anymore, but she was shaking and could barely breathe and when she did it was in short bursts and staggered. A tear slid down her face and she wailed, almost like a – she had forgotten until – _

…

She was about seven when the face of her groom materialized for the first time.

It was her brother.

She swore to herself that someday she would marry him and make him happy and take care of him like he'd been doing for her for so many years, to erase the tiredness and the sorrow and the empty smiles and replace them with what she ached to see him feel. She knew what marriage was, how it was for love now because people could choose, how it's not the kind of love you feel for a brother and she even had a vague inkling that you do stuff that you don't with friends of family. Of course she knew, and it didn't change anything.

It didn't change her mind, it didn't change her feelings, it didn't change her heart.

When she was seven, she swore she was going to marry her brother and make him happy and give him everything he wanted but never had time for because of her. It wasn't guilt. It was love.

When she was seven, it was okay to go around telling people you were going to marry your brother, because nobody thinks that you're serious, that you know what marriage is, that you know what it entails and why it can't happen in family. It was okay because she was an ignorant child, a child who didn't know what she was talking about or what she wanted.

She kept telling people that until she turned twelve, when she had announced to the class during lunch that she was going to marry her brother and have his babies. Her teacher pulled her aside and asked if there was anything Orihime needed to tell her, but as smart as she was she didn't know what she meant, so the significance was lost on her until she got home and her brother and the police and her teacher were there, because 'Orihime always looks so pale, and is bruised up, and says she's going to marry her legal guardian, so there must be something wrong.'

It was horrifying: not just because they had jumped to that conclusion (didn't the teachers notice that the other kids bullied her? If they were going to figure something out, try doing that one, first!), but also because her brother looked at her with exasperation and later pulled her aside and told her to watch what she says and does, because not everybody is going to understand you. It was horrifying because it hurt that he wanted to change her, she thought, but he didn't really, he just wanted her to be safe.

It was horrifying, not just because of that, but because he found out her secret and there was nothing she could do about it.

It was humiliating, it was demeaning, it hurt. It hurt so much, and then she realized that she loved him enough to let her dream fade away into nothing, fade away into the same place that years ago the cat had gone away to for dying, and then she locked it up.

Did you know, he looked like him? And he acted like him, and it was a suitable replacement at first and then an infatuation, but no matter how she looked at it Ichigo was not her brother, and as soon as he died, everything she wanted with him transferred over to her soon to be hero.

Almost.

Ichigo was nice, and stubborn, and caring, but he was missing the sides of her brother that made her love him. Like the fact that he loved coffee, and her brother didn't. How her brother would hold her hand and stroke her hair and sing her to sleep, but Ichigo was so distant. How her brother smiled at even the lame jokes, but Ichigo could only ever laugh around others. He just wasn't right.

But Ichigo was dead too, so what did it matter? Why did it matter that Ichigo and her brother weren't the same? It's probably because Ichigo and her brother were dissimilar, but neither were at all like Ichimaru Gin, who was probably her future.

It's pretty much everything she's never wanted.

And everything, she knows, she's going to have.

…

_When she wakes up, it is much like she imagines a hangover would feel. Her head is spinning, and her mouth feels fuzzy, and there is a lingering shame and embarrassment leaking in from the recesses of her addled, aching head. She searches for the source, in vain: she has no idea where she is, what time it is, when he fell asleep, or what happened after she woke up and had, she admits, a bit of a meltdown._

_Well, a massive meltdown, actually._

_She rubs her forehead with the back of her hand, and leans on to her elbow, propping herself up. There's a light coming in from… she squints, yes, that's a window. Nonetheless, the light burns her eyes, and she notices with astonishment that it isn't the white light of the never ending moon of Las Noches, and it's not the fluorescent lights lining the massive, empty hallways that wind through the massive buildings of the complex. It's golden, pure, light, coming in from a window. _

_A window. _

Her _window. That's her window. It's got her curtains, and her window stickers (Winnie the Pooh, her brother loved to read them to her and she loves the characters) and the scratch from that time she tried to sneak out but accidently scraped the window with her hairclips, creating a god-awful sound and waking her brother, who was displeased._

_Beneath it was her desk, covered in papers, including the letter she left for Matsumoto-san and Hitsugaya-kun, moved by her friends, she supposes, and crinkled with patterns that suggest it had been caught in an crushing grip, and she's struck suddenly by the sheer emotional impact of what she just found._

I left this note for them, before I left, and never thought about it again but they saw it and looked at it and my god this is something I didn't know and would never had known.

_The tears well up in her eyes, and she rubs at them with her sleeve, determined to make this happy. The fabric of her sleeve surprises her: it's not the oddly soft cotton-y material of her uniform, but rather fleece. It's purple fleece, she noted with growing awe, it's my purple fleece pyjamas with ducks and robots on them that Rukia-san of all people gave me._

_Why am I wearing these?_

_Why am I here? What's going on? Why am I back home, why am I in my room with my dinosaur lamp and my school uniform I hated but now want to wear so much and my pencil case and my gel pens and my chair and my bed and the pictures on the wall of all my friends and all the good times spent together and my books and my school books and my stuffed animals and… everything, everything's here!_

_She drops to her knees suddenly, and she doesn't know why, but the tears are coming out rapidly and she's sobbing into her hands and shaking but her pyjamas are comfortable and this is the worst trick anyone's ever played on her because she's not home, she can't be, because didn't Aizen destroy Karakura in that battle of his, that was his plan, right, and why would she be here, anyways? This wasn't real. If she looked outside the window, it'd be Las Noches, just outside is the moon and everything and all that sand where Grimmjow bled out and Nnoitra died and Ichigo almost got himself killed so many times, and everything is exactly like it was before. This isn't real, she told herself, because if it was then she might break. _

_She stood up off the floor, which was the same carpet as before, and walked through her room to her window. She opened it slowly, and it stuck a third of the way out, as always, and then she stuck her hand out it was warm, sun warmth, and no sad, just the river and people walking by and when she stuck her head out and looked up, that was her roof and when she looked down, it was her street. _

_It was suffocating her. _

…

She flung the window shut, breathing heavily, and tears stung her eyes again. _Shouldn't I be happy, to be back home? Why am I not happy? _She ran to her closet, wrenched it open, and sure enough, it was full of her clothes, some dresses that actually fit her, some blouses, her work uniform, some old Halloween costumes, and – she inhaled sharply – there was her Ichigo shrine, in all its glory. There were the pictures, there were the roses, long dead by now, and the notes he had given her ('Can I borrow a pen?' or 'We're heading out tonight.'), and the birthday gifts from him, which were pristine and in perfect condition, except for the chocolate bar she'd gotten last year when he'd forgotten and given her that on the day and her actual present the next day.

She stared dumbly at it and felt a sudden urge to destroy it, to knock it over, to tear it to shreds but when she reached for it, her hand trembled and she grabbed it back into her chest, shaking her head side to side and trying to erase the thoughts entering her head.

_Go away, go away, go away._

She ran to the door of her room and grabbed the handle with a sudden ferocity, though when she opened the door she did it slowly, and sure enough that was the kitchen across the hall, and the dishes were still undone and there was the sofa and the memorial for her brother (she swallowed hard then) and when she steps out (bunny slippers. She's wearing her bunny slippers. What?) it was the same hardwood floor, not dusty at all, clean and polished and shiny, like someone had been here, taking care of the place.

She walks past the door, then turns, reaching for the handle but starting rather violently instead, fingertips brushing the golden doorknob while shaking, and suddenly she's leaning on the door for support while it groans form the sudden pressure.

She looks down, and she can't breathe.

Right beside her door sits Ichimaru Gin himself, propped up in front of him and one hand on the hilt, the other on the scabbard – a defensive position, oddly. His knees are drawn to his chest on either side of the sword, head down and forearms resting on his knees. She takes a step back, expecting him to look up with his killer smile, but he's breathing evenly and deeply and when she hesitantly crouches down before him, she can see his head is tilted to side, on his right elbow. His eyes are closed, as always, but softer, kinder, calmer, and his mouth is relaxed. He actually might be smiling a little, but a real smile, not the fake ones he's so fond of.

He's fast asleep, and he's never looked so vulnerable. She reaches out, but an inch from his head, she pauses, then withdraws her hand. She stares at it, puzzled, as if it's a foreign object. What had she been planning to do? Wake him up? This is the best she's ever seen him, when he's peaceful and not scheming and being sadistic and suddenly she realizes she doesn't know this man at all, even if she's theoretically known him for at least a year, maybe two by this point.

Maybe he has a reason for his awfulness, for being kind and cruel and awful and beautiful and altogether a person that gives her a headache that she doesn't think she deserves. What has made this man so twisted?

She's still crouched down, but now she's staring at him, and then reaching out to touch his hair not to wake him, but because she's always secretly wondered what it feels like. When her fingers finally get close enough, she tries to softly touch it, but her fingers pass right through the space where his hair should be. She tries again, baffled, and wonders for a moment if it's not that bracelet Ulquiorra gave her so many months ago that wouldn't let her touch anything in the real world, but dismisses it once her mind informs her that he's definitely not from the real world. When her fingers again meet with nothing but air, she tries for his hand. Her fingers brush the top of his hand, and she swears she can feel the static where his skin should be, but they pass right through his hand.

She reaches a little further, and suddenly her progress is brought to a halt, her fingertips colliding with something very solid and very cold. She withdraws her hand instantly, and then realizes what she just touched.

_His sword. _

Why was it solid, when he was not? She didn't get it. She'd understand it if he was in a gigai, but then why on earth would his zanpakuto be as solid as can be. She reaches out again, this time avoiding his hand and heading straight for the hilt. She wraps her hand around it, marvelling in the feel of the fabric wrapped tightly, the icy feel of the reiatsu leaking out from it, though it was obviously being repressed.

Actually, the reiatsu felt strange, if she concentrated on it. It felt a lot like Ichimaru-san's, but different – less stable, more playful, almost… childlike? But how was that possible? As far as she knew, zanpakutos were a part of their owner, a part of their power or something. She didn't really know, she'd never had a need to know. But this was just really weird, because this was very obviously not the same. For one thing, Ichimaru-san wasn't channelling any reiatsu at all, he was blank. All the reiatsu was coming from…

Shinso. That was her name, wasn't it? Orihime wasn't sure how she knew, or why, but she knew for a fact that the sword's name was Shinso, and that she was undoubtedly a girl.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and a chill sweep through her just as a tickling voice at the back of her mind speaks, in a clear yet childlike tone. _Hime-chan! _It cries, and she could see flashes of dark blue hair and golden eyes that were somehow catlike, _Hime-chan, it's so great to meet you!_

"Wh-What?" she finally gasps out, after struggling with her words for a while, "How… you…"

The voice hums, and Orihime blinks and finds herself sitting in a plush chair, red velvet, sipping tea and in a summer dress, white lace with bumblebees patterned all about the fabric. Sitting in front of her is a tiny girl, maybe fourteen, skinny as a rail and dressed in a yukata. The sleeves are too long on her, they reach her fingertips, and it's dark purple and blue with silver butterflies against her pale skin. She swings her legs back and forth, dwarfed by the chair, and giggles. Her hair is short, with mussed spikes and a long lock of hair framing the left side of her face, a purple bead placed about one inch from her scalp. She would look innocent but for her smile, which seems deadly and playful all at once. Orihime blinks again, and she's still sitting on her floor, hand gripping the sword with such force that her knuckles are turning white from the pressure.

_Silly, of course I can talk to you! _The voice laughs, and Orihime suddenly feels like she is watching two movies at the exact same time, the images laid over each other because there was Gin, sitting in front of her, slouched over and fast asleep, but there was also the girl, with her feline eyes and messy elegance, sitting on the red plush chair. _You know, I just needed you to touch me, but this dummy – _Orihime's mind blew a fuse trying to figure out how the girl could stick out her tongue at Gin _through different dimensions_, but she managed it somehow – _insisted that you couldn't be let near me. He's so silly, isn't he? _The girl was resting her chin in her hands, and though she easily insulted the sleeping man, it was done with a certain fondness to it, and her eyes softened when she looked to him.

Gin flinches in his sleep and makes a small noise, and the girl breathes in shakily, swaying on her seat. Her fingers dig into the soft plush of the chair, and even Orihime feels a little lightheaded after the girl regains her senses. She dimly wonders what that was, in the corners of her mind, and is flabbergasted when the girl replies. She still looks vaguely ill when the golden eyes flick away from the Gin and towards her, and they're clouded over in what Orihime can only think is pain. _He's such a softie, poor boy. He can't stand to see anyone in pain. _ The girl explains, and stares into her teacup, sloshing around the liquid before downing what should be the entire glass, though when she puts in back down, it's full.

Orihime's mild jolts, and suddenly she's remembering him laughing at her, laughing at her pain, taunting her, taunting anyone he fought, killing even the man who had meant the most to him and is overcome by a wave of disbelief, and maybe even resentment. She hates Gin Ichimaru almost as much as she doesn't because he's cruel and kind, and this girl is saying that one of those sides doesn't exist. She's confused, and irritated and maybe a little infuriated, but that's as far as she gets because suddenly an iron presence is weighing down her mind, and the girl's eyes narrowed.

_Well. _ The girl began flatly, completely void of the singsong tones she had been using before. _I can see why'd you'd think otherwise, but you're wrong. _Orihime tried to let go of the sword, because this isn't interesting anymore it's scary but her hand is frozen in place, and when she tries to relax her grip she just can't, and she can feel nails on her face, painted bright red as the girl stokes her cheek. She's leaning in closely, and Orihime can feel her breath on her face from across the table as the nails leave a trail of irritated skin on her cheek. _You're dead wrong. I've always known him, I've always loved him._ Orihime's mind is suddenly filled with a picture of the girl reaching forward and grabbing her hair, pulling her head towards her mouth, so that she can whisper in her ear._ He's mine. _Her scalp stings suddenly, frighteningly, andOrihime shrinks back from the venom in the tone and the implied threat. The girl studies her for a moment longer with sharp, dangerous eyes, but her demeanour brightened almost instantly, and she was back to being overtly cheery within seconds, eyes laughing and twinkling and smile brilliant. _I'll share him with you, though. _She added imperiously. _He's sort of yours, too._

Orihime is taken aback by the sudden switch, so she looks into her teacup and stares at her reflection – eyes wide, hair clipped back with flower pins, the best present she's ever gotten. There are ripples in the tea from her hands moving to grip the sides of it, so her reflection is kind of distorted. She tries to center her thoughts in the cup, but she can only focus on the rim, and it goes round and round and her thoughts keep circling with it. After a short time, she opens her mouth to ask a question, then closes it again. The girl in front of her waits patiently, hands in her lap and eyes searching.

"Who are you?" she finally manages, and it's one of about one hundred questions, but it's probably the most important of them all.

The girl gives an indignant little snort. _I'm about to give you something I've never given to anyone – even Ran-chan, and she was kind of sweet too – and you're asking me who I am? Not why I'm blessing you with the greatest gift anyone could ever give you? _She was obviously waiting for an answer, so when Orihime just smiled wanly, she huffed, and, almost tangibly, she feels the girl roll her eyes. _Seriously? That's your question? _She blew a raspberry. _Lame. But whatever, I guess you should know. _

_Well, you can talk to me because…_ she grimaces, and sticks out her tongue. _ I don't actually know. I _think _it's because he's letting you, even if he doesn't know it. I mean, technically, I can't do anything without him, so somewhere in his head, I guess he's saying we can talk. Sort of. _She shrugs, and leans onto her elbows.

Orihime's quite sure that's not the question she asked, but it is a question that she had, so she's just pleased it was answered at all. But… why should it matter that he lets them talk, and what is this girl, and why is she so dependent on Gin? The girl clears her throat in the next second, startling Orihime out of her thoughts, and she looks down, embarrassed to have been caught off guard. The girl frowns, obviously displeased that her guest isn't paying attention, and harrumphs.

_Pay attention! _She chides, and sips her tea. Orihime nods, still flushed red, then opens her mouth to reiterate her original question, but is cut off by the girl clearing her throat, again. She looks straight into Orihime's eyes, fixing her with a serious look, and starts to speak. _I love him, Orihime. I really do. So don't mess him up more than he already is. I'm trying to fix him, but I'll probably need your help._

Orihime blinks twice, unsure what to make of this sudden development. "What do you mean?" she voices hesitantly, not sure if she wants to know the answer or how this girl intends for Orihime to fix him.

The girl lays her head on the table, making a cushion of her arms and shifts her eyes to the side. _He's shutting me out, hime-chan. He's been shutting me out for a very long time. He still works with me, but no matter how hard I try, I can't talk to him. I only managed to when he was fighting Aizen, that little prick, because he really needed me and reached out for me. It was scary, because we aren't used to fighting together anymore. We kept getting in each other's way, and it's only because we actually got help from some kid with orange hair _–Orihime bites down on her lip, hard –_that we managed to kill him._

_But he's, we're, really unstable. We aren't connecting how we should, and it's breaking apart his mind. He can't function without me there, and vice versa. He's so messed up, and all the grief from the war isn't helping, hasn't ever helped._

"You-" Orhime began, beginning to grasp the implications of this statement, "He's been like this for the entire war?"

The girl hummed in affirmation. _And a long time before, too. Ever since he met Aizen, ever since he actually became a shinigami, he's been shutting me out. Seems kind of counter-intuitive. He thought I was the compassionate, kind part of him, which is a load of bull. I'm a little bit of every part of him. We don't co-operate, and that means his own mind won't co-operate with itself. He's going insane and I can't stop it._ The girl looked up again, and something serious and fierce was burning at the back of her eyes. _You need to save him for me, hime-chan. _

A pregnant pause stretches out for a few second following her final words, echoing in Orihime's mind (_you need to save him for me, need to save him, save him)_, and then Gin exhales loudly, breaking the silence and drawing their attention to him. He's still serene, but he's stirring, and lines are starting to appear on his forehead. _He's waking up. _The girl says quietly, and pushes her saucer towards the centre of the table and stands. _I've gotta go. _She turns back to Orihime, still sitting on the floor and in the chair at the same time, and bows suddenly, smiling toothily.

_I'm Shinso, by the way. It's nice ta meetcha!_

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><p><strong>ANII: Now, wasn't that odd? I wonder what's gonna happen next…<strong>

**~Seina**


	4. Waking Dream

**ANI: **Hi guys! First of all, I'm sorry for how long this chapter took. I'm especially apologetic towards those who asked when the next chapter was coming out and got the answer 'soon'. The people following this fic, but most of all the people who review, are really the best motivation I have to write this mind-bender. In any case, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. As always, I don't own Bleach.

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><p><strong>Title: <strong>Infection of the Mind, Affliction of the Soul, Condition of the Heart**  
><strong>**Author: **seinakyou**  
><strong>**Theme:**#32 Linger  
><strong>Genre(s): <strong>Angst, Drama**  
><strong>**Characters: **Ichimaru, Orihime**  
><strong>**Word Count: **2,205**  
><strong>**Rating: **T**  
><strong>**Summary: **The doubt lingers, the uncertainty, the regret. But worst of all is the hope.

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><p>…<p>

…

…

…

_Being away from others doesn't make me lonely_

_Being separate from myself_

_Is the only thing that really hurts_

…

…

…

…

This is Ichimaru Gin's world: wake, sleep, wake, sleep.

This has been Gin's world for a very long time. The beginning of this pattern is just on the edges of his memory, tantalizingly close but always just beyond his grasp. He'll remember something, anything, but when he thinks about it any further than that it disappears, and he falls asleep again.

This is Ichimaru Gin's mind: wake, sleep, wake, sleep.

Actions to actions and dust to dust, he has lived, he has survived. But he has never trusted. Not his friends, not his direct superiors, not even his poor dear almost lover. He has bled for them and fought for them and been hated for them, but never has he trusted them.

Never has he even gone so far as to trust himself.

This is Ichimaru Gin's motto: If it's not me, then it's nothing.

Always for himself, he has been, never wanting more and never needing any less. From the very first moment he has been his own man, fighting for himself and fighting for his own goals, his own purposes. If those purposes were revenge against a startlingly amoral man, then it should be no surprise that trusting people was a luxury he could not afford, a liability that could cost him more than it would be worth.

Finding out Kyoka Suigetsu's power was only the beginning. How could it have been anything but that? After all, he hadn't even learned Shinso's _name_ yet, and there were things you never learned about your zanpakuto until you had already achieved them. He was so young back then, so committed to doing the right thing, to fixing the problem and to making Soul Society a better place.

Is it hard to imagine him being a child? It shouldn't be. Like anyone, he was born. He was a squalling infant, and then a precocious toddler, and then a prodigious child. But a child nonetheless, even if he may have had silver hair and that ever-disarming smile, he was a child once upon time.

He was a child when he first met Ran-chan, and in the way only a child who'd been alone for his entire life could, he had loved her. He had loved her so deeply, so truly, and even still it was not enough. Not enough to keep her safe. He couldn't do that alone, couldn't protect her from the things he'd seen inflicted on her while he was still weak.

And then his love for her was too much. It was too dangerous for her to be close to him as he got close to the most terrifying man in any world. Too dangerous for her, and by far too dangerous for him. Because if Aizen ever connected the dots, or even remembered who Ran-chan was, he couldn't protect her from his scrutiny, from figuring out his plot, from never being able to make a difference.

What a dear, idealistic child he had been. Thinking he could change the world, make it better. What a fool he had been to think that he could save everyone.

But even as it blew up in his face time and time again, making friends and allies and destroying them even as he suffered for it, he would remember bits and pieces of life _before_ Soul Society, while he was still a human. He would remember tears and dirt smudged on his face and sores on his hands and even if he couldn't save the poor, weak human he had once been, he had never truly forgotten the sense that there was evil in this world and that it could not be allowed to survive, to thrive. In every world he's been in since, he's seen evils small and big – ones that break his heart and ones that make him weep, and ones that only reinforce his need to do something.

But to discover the kind of power that these people could carry was the truly damaging thing. To realize that one man could define your world, make you see things that were never there and use them to steal you and your secrets destroyed the child he had been and made him into the man he would become.

When he first saw Shinso, his emotions went out of control. He saw he standing there and he felt: proud, to have achieved such a thing at such a young age; awe, that he could manifest something so inherently powerful; happy, at what she looked like, what she represented within in him. As all these feelings swelled up inside of him and made his heart soar, a small dark part of his mind thought and realized and made connections. And so amongst all of this he also felt: horror, at the realization that he had, actually seen Aizen's shikai; anger, at himself for being stupid enough to believe the illusion and at Aizen for giving him something he had craved for so long and making it fake; and a deep and tremendous sadness over the part of himself that would always be masked thanks to Kyoka Suigetsu.

He met her in her natural habitat, a wide and flowery meadow next to a sparkling lake, and she told him her name in a dark moment when he was unable to protect Ran-chan and his desire to become stronger overweighed his self-pity. She told him her name and he rejected her and she cast him out in fury.

Yet the next time he fought, he called upon her nonetheless, in a clear voice and with a clear heart, so she responded and allowed him to access her power, and they were marvelous, saving souls from destruction and destroying the hollow. But then he turned around and Aizen was standing there, eyes warm behind the glasses but cold behind the warmth, and Gin is suddenly struck with a chill that reaches down to his bones.

The next time he called on her, she refused to come out unless he told her what was going on with him and Aizen and his heart skipped a beat as he realized that it was exactly how he feared it had been. He left her in a cold rage and allowed that rage to take over him, and he never spoke to her again.

He called on her and she answered, trying to make a connection, but he would use her and then ignore her, and though she kept trying and trying and trying Gin would not submit, would not reveal his plans to this illusion, to this mole planted in his brain by his benevolent captain. He held on to only his hope, his hope and his plan and ignored all the rest because those were the only things he had before he met Aizen.

Everything else could be fake, everything else was a lie.

The only thing real about his new life was Shinso. Shinso, who acted in perfect harmony with him even as she cried out to try to contact him, who was synchronised with him in such a way that even Aizen, master of illusions, could not even attempt to create. She was real in her actions, and she was real when she parted flesh and spilled blood easily.

She was not real when Aizen tried to speak to him through her.

And this he continued to believe, right up until the end, right until he realized that whether he liked it or not, Aizen was strong. He was incredibly strong, and next to him in his full power Gin felt like no more than the child he had been when he first met Aizen. And as this strength repeatedly pushed Gin to the limit, Shinso always, steadfastly, lent him her strength and let him lean on her. So in that final push, when he and Kurosaki fought side by side in sheer desperation, he called on her, specifically 'the spirit of his sword' rather than 'Shinso' for only the second time ever and the sheer power he felt was nothing, nothing at all in comparison to the realignment of his world.

Realizing he'd killed a god he could handle. Realizing that for centuries he had been blatantly ignoring a part of his own soul for fear and finally being able to understand the ramifications of what he'd done, and the overwhelming feeling of guilt and horror and self-loathing was almost enough to re-break him, newly formed as he was.

/His conscience cried out loud, and he could no longer tune it out as illusion. His whole world was not, as he had previously fought, an elaborate illusion designed to keep him on edge and loyal. His world was real and he felt as though he could cry from the joy and the sadness.

Somewhere, he was sure Aizen was laughing at him.

This is now Ichimaru Gin's mind: wake, sleep, wake, wake, wake.

He's not afraid to believe in the things he sees anymore, he doesn't worry about recognizing the truth from the lies. He can distinguish between dream and illusion and reality and now that he's drawn the lines it terrifies him to realize the errors he's made.

The things hovering on the edges of his memory, masked from him by poor dear Shinso, nearly as unstable as him still but always working to protect him, to protect something, as she always has, these memories now blind him with tears. Occasionally, the tears are because he's happy, or sad, or horrified, but most of the time he's not even sure why he's crying.

Picture: _sitting on the roof with Ran-chan, her hair shorter now than it's been for a while, they're both drinking hot chocolate even though it's the middle of summer. He says something, he thinks, because she starts and then laughs, teeth gleaming and eyes dancing with mirth. He joins her in laughing, and soon they're both lying on the roof, shaking with poorly restrained giggled and beaming at each other, for never ending friendship._

Picture: _Izuru waiting in the office for him through all hours of the night, always waiting for him to come back because any time he leaves, he makes sure to tell him that he'll be coming right back. Izuru's tired, nearly falling asleep on his desk before he walks in, and by the time he's near the desk, he is sound asleep. Gin might, _might_, smile at this, before hoisting the boy over his shoulder – gently, gently – and taking him back to the barracks._

Picture: _Inoue – Orihime – sitting on her bed stoically, stoically; staring off into space even as her fingers turn white from clutching the skirt of her dress so hard. She stares at the door, and when no one enters, she looks up at the window. Out the window. In the corners of her eyes, tears begin to slip down her face, gathering in the corner of her lips, but even as her eyes redden and she feels her friends' lives fade into nothingness, she is silent._

Picture: _A sad, broken man stumbling through the halls of Las Noches, trying to find something, anything to hold onto after seeing friends and allies and enemies alike fall to the ground, crumpled and bleeding. Trying to find something to redeem himself, to staunch the bleeding and give him something worth living for, and then when he runs across Inoue Orihime in the corridors discovering a purpose as well as a solution to his problems. _

Picture: _a sword, unable to distinguish any difference between strong emotions, so glad to be back and with her rightful owner, fully, that she forgets she is no longer in battle, despite her still released form, and jumps the gun, shooting out at the person who has just appeared in front of them, piercing first glass and then eye and then brain matter – and then seeing Aizen laugh and the figure flicker for moment before falling to the ground._

A slideshow runs through his head at light speed, images and videos and collections of impressions and emotions cycling around one thought, one important thought – there is a healer here, one who can fix you, one who can make you whole.

That's what he's afraid of, you see. If he becomes whole again, he'll have to face all the things he did whilst he was still broken. He'll have to remember, and reflect, and he'll have to try to be a better person. It's safer to stay halved, he thinks, because at least then he knows who is.

He's afraid that if he stays halved, he'll never be anything more than what he was.

Gin Ichimaru, behind piercing blue eyes and the grin of a fox, is a sad, scared child who doesn't know where to turn anymore. A disillusioned child waking into a nightmare of what the world has become and what he cannot do to save it.

A lonely child who wakes from his endless dreaming to see Inoue Orihime sitting across the hall from him, staring into his soul with deep, sad eyes.

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><p><strong>ANII: <strong>Always optimistic about the reviews!

~seina


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